Things I’ll Never Get To Do

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Tempus destruit spes nostras.

Become an archeologist.
Master Greek and Latin.
Build my own cabin.
Apologize to all those
I’ve loved and harmed.
Read all the books. All.
Win the Cross-fit games.
Figure out what women want
and whisper the secret
to Freud in his grave
so he can finally get some rest.
Learn to juggle. Really.
Write just one, perfect poem.
Forget that unwelcome war,
at least the bad parts.
Be stalked by a cassowary.
Converse with an Alien.
Ever make it to India.
Hug my unborn grand-children.
Defile Richard Nixon’s grave.
Travel to outer space and
manage to get home again.
Waltz with a Duchess in Vienna.
Achieve Satori, then lose it.

That miserly bastard time seems
so very stingy with our dreams.